Yesterday was Thursday. It was the day that Ryan, Robert and I had planned on going to the Wave with Andrew for 80's night. Ryan called early on in the afternoon and told me that he and Rob wouldn't be joining us. BLAH. Quite unfortunate, but the news has no impact on me. I was going, with or without Ryan. I called Andrew and confirmed the 'evening appointment' and we were still on.
I got out of class at 6:45PM. Andrew was at a friend's house, but somehow conned me into picking him up back at his house so he could join me in the hunt for a new shirt to wear for the night out. I arrived, picking him up, and carted the two of us up to Marshall's. I was looking for something unique and inexpensive, not really knowing how the evening would play out. At Marshall's the pickin's were slim. I was confronted with having to shop in the smallest men's department I've possibly ever seen. The clearance racks weren't promising either. I tried to force myself to be attracted to something, but the plain oxfords weren't singing my name from the racks. Walking towards the front door, I saw a small table with a few hair products and quickly grabbed a bright banana yellow BedHead brush infused with tourmaline. $8 was spent at Marshall's and yet no clothes filled the cheap plastic bag when we left. In the parking lot, a young latino man walked towards the door. Andrew's biggest weakness is latin men, so I immediately glanced at him to see his eyes glued to the guy. "You want to go back in?" I smiled at him.
I decided to make one last stand and try my chances at TJ Maxx. Jackpot. I looked for a while before settling on an olive colored Polo Ralph Lauren tee shirt with a splashed on graphic starting on the chest moving directly up to the neckline. It was a small, and it looked pretty decent, so for $13, I figured I'd try it out, and if it didn't work, I had more than enough options back at the house.
Andrew and I drove back to my house since it was still early. I sprayed my hair one more time, pushing it up from the back making sure that I owned every inch of heaping volume piled up at the back of my head. While this went on, I received a phone call from my lab partner Emily. Em needed some chem lecture notes and was on her way over. She showed up. I pulled the pages out of my notebook and gently arranged them in the three prong folder I had put the first test's notes in for her to borrow. She really started to wear out her welcome. She told the whole story of her ex boyfriend and how he cheated on her and wanted her back and wouldn't stop calling her and yadda yadda yadda. Every time I looked at Andrew, he rolled his eyes, obviously sharing my thoughts at the moment. I finished my face work, filling in my eyebrows and mustache, using bronzer on my cheeks to give me added depth.
Emily walked out of the door with Andrew and me. I waited for her to hurry up while she started chatting leisurely with my mom before hitting the front door. Andrew was restless again. We left, severing ties to the house. I went and gassed up. Andrew went in to the convenient store to buy one of those "5 Hour Energy" drinks. I picked up the small bottle while he used the ATM machine. Nutrition facts: Vitamin B6- Daily % . . . . . 2,000%! Vitamin B12. . . . . 8,333%!!!
"Five hours will put you to 3AM!"
"Okay, well you drink half and I'll drink half," Andrew protested.
I drove to pick up Andrew's friend Terry. We grabbed Terry and headed to the closest interstate on-ramp. Andrew drank half of the bottle. He passed the minature bottle to me. I finished it up, feeling like Alice in Wonderland drinking the growing and shrinking potions. It tasted like extremely concentrated and uncarbonated Red Bull, but not intolerable altogether.
The drive went well. We rocked out to new Hot Chip and Kylie Minogue, Seal, and one really really gay song by RuPaul that went something like this:
"How do I look?!"
"You look good!"
"How do I feel?!"
"You feel good!"
"How do I look?!"
"You look good! Lookin' good and feelin' gorgeous!"
RuPaul sang on and on about looking legendary, and having to send text messages from her Blackberry to her agency, not the escort agency, the modeling agency, "I have coins to make gurrrl!" Andrew and I laughed, and Terry joined in. I acted as gay as I could, living up ever minute of the drive trying to get all three of us pumped and motivated for the night ahead.
The three of us crossed the street after parking and got through the front door without having to wait in any line. Andrew paid my cover charge, as planned, and we lit up cigarettes simultaneously. Terry doesn't smoke, so he just hung out. Andrew went to pick up a Long Island Ice Tea from the bar, obviously planning on getting pretty shitty. The bar didn't pick up until closer to midnight.
The crowd was young. It was very mixed also. 80's night at the Wave used to be an overflow of the Saturday crowd; gay men came in wearing all kinds of skinny leg jeans and Chuck Taylor Converse shoes. An article hit in the paper, The Virginian Pilot to be exact, giving great reviews of the Wave's weekly Thursday night bash. It was half and half for a while. Now, I'd almost venture to say it's about 60% hetero and 40% homo IF that. The usual crowd tends to consist of young trendy girls, queeny gay guys, and a few straight men lookin' for a piece (if you know what I mean). They're the type of guys who rarely dance, clinging to their longneck beers and smoking way too many cigarettes. I can't say I'm not guilty of consuming more than my fair share of nicoteine when I go to the Wave. I'm usually nervous since I'm not the hottest meat in town (like at the Pocket). I smoke profusely, unable to dance without a glowing ember waving around along with my left hand.
Andrew mentioned on the car ride over that we had to look extra good because, "I was pretty sloppy last week and made out with some fat guy. The next day I get this phone call from some guy who tells me he's in his thirties, he's a male nurse, and he lives with his parents. I mean, is that supposed to impress me?" After a while, he turned to me in the bar, "That fat guy's here."
"Where is he?" I asked
"I would never point him out because you'd loose too much respect for me."
Like all opposite ended magnets, somehow they still managed to connect that night. Andrew never bought another drink after his initial Long Island. "The fat guy" had a name, and that name was Rudy. I was introduced, but not on my own accord. I'd seen this guy before. He rolls with a nice crew. The men he keeps close are far thinner than him, and usually hit the gym at least five more times a week than he does. The men he hands around have chiseled bodies, great teeth, and sparkling eyes. I mean, GQ was created because of men like these. Later after hearing about all the drinks he'd purchased Andrew, I decided that the only reason the GQ crew stuck to him like flies to shit was because of his uncanny ability to buy rounds for everyone. I guess when you live with your parents, you don't pay the mortgage and can afford to splurge to aid in your lack of social abilities.
I walked to the back bar and managed to accidentally strike up a conversation with the bartender. I've seem him countless times before. This was two years ago when Ryan and I stayed hitting the Wave steadily every Thursday and Saturday for months on end. This bartender had a thing for Ryan, and so did everyone else. He would carry himself with so much confidence, I always felt like I was just following Ryan, trying to mimick his stance, his eyes, his wit. This particular bartender commented once that he loved the way Ryan would step down the stairs to the back bar, scanning the area, noting every face. Ryan always played the game, and he was damn good at it too. It was actually a copycat move for me to buy a new top to go out in. Ryan would buy a new outfit every single Saturday. I tell you what though, that new shirt made me keep my shoulders back, my stomach in, and I never felt more attractive. The bartender Gerard and I talked about cars, about Honda products, and gas mileage. I would try to walk away to get back to Andrew and Terry, but somehow couldn't. He smiled and did most of the talking. It was hard to get any words in, but I guess he just really needed an ear at that moment. The bar was crowding with needy dunks, and when they started slamming their glasses on the bar top, I patted Gerard's hand and told him I'd talk to him later.
Andrew was constantly disappearing. I'd turn to look at Terry to see if he could point me in the direction, and he would. He would point a finger and there Andrew would be, nestled in small circles of gay men all over the bar, bouncing from one to the next. I walked up behind him, waiting for an opportune moment to jump in and grab his attention, trying not to distract everyone else's. I felt more awkward than anything. I'm sure those guys he was talking to were wondering who that guy was that was standing so close to their circle for no apparent reason. Andrew was good about not talking too long though. He has the attention span of a gnat.
Terry, Andrew, and I ended up on the dance floor. For some reason Andrew's belt kept coming undone (I wondered whether this was planned or honestly accidental). Every two minutes Andrew would turn to Terry and say, "Hold this," and pass Terry is bought-and-paid for drink, courtesy of the hefty male nurse. Terry protested after about the fourth time. He was a good sport about it though.
During the evening, somehow I ran into a small army of people I went to high school with. One of them I'm 105% sure is gay. The other was a girl friend of theirs that I know is staight. The other guy that was with them used to be a regular friend. He used to eat lunch with my best friend and me when we were seniors. He is a year younger than us though. I always assumed him to be straight until I dated a guy who worked with him that claimed he was a "major closet case." My ears had been perked since then. He was the first from their group to come up to me and enthusiastically ask how I had been. I had exchanged a couple messages online with him after I heard he may in fact be gay. I didn't think anything of their group because it was 80's night and is perfectly acceptable to be straight and at the Wave on a Thursday. Had I seen him on a Saturday, it would have been a different story and a far more compromising situation. The night progressed and they tended to each other as I tended to Andrew and Terry on the dance floor.
I saw my lunch-time friend dancing on a girl, which is fine. What caught me off guard was the really gay guy dancing on his ass while he danced with the girl. He didn't look like he minded it or was just tolerating it. He was having a good time. I tried to ignore it and get on with the night as best I could. Andrew would wander off and I danced by myself for a while. I kept my head up, dancing and smiling in my own little world. I had a great time. An 80's song I didn't recognize started playing and I danced on. A very attractive man that wouldn't strike me as being gay walked past me, stopping to tell me, "I have a crush on this song."
"Oh really?" I stopped, smiling at him. He kept on walking and I went back to dancing. In retrospect, I wish I had grabbed his arm, pulled him back to me, and asked him if he'd mind enjoying it with me.
"Last call for alcohol!" boomed over the speakers. I gathered my ducklings seeing as I was the designated driver. I found Andrew, and Terry walked up at the same time. The lights came on and I hurried Andrew to pay out and leave with us. I didn't want to get caught up in the crowd waiting to get their ID's back at the door. Terry and I walked out after Andrew said he had to say his goodbyes. He said he'd meet us back at the car. The front door opened as other people filed out. It was cold, and there was no denying the fact that it was raining pretty hard. Terry and I held out breaths and took off, running all the way to the car. Mid-jog he spoke, "I hate this damn rain, you think white people hate getting their hair wet? My hair it like a sponge. Black people hate getting wet!" We finally made it back to the car on the other side of the street. I started the car and let it warm up while we waited for a shitty Andrew to get to the car. He was five to ten minutes behind us. He clumsily ran to the car, falling into the front seat.
The ride home was eventful to say the least. We argued the whole way jokingly. I ganged up with Terry, telling Andrew how shitty his boyfriend was for not drinking and never going out with him. Terry complained that Andrew's boyfriend was a racist, and Andrew's response was, "Everybody is a racist!" Andrew tried to protect the reputation of his boyfriend, but in the process his own ethics were put on trial. I chastised Andrew for making out with other men and letting them buy him drinks.
"Does that guy Rudy know you have a boyfriend!?" I asked (Rudy is the nurse).
"Yeah. I told him."
I asked him how he would feel if his boyfriend went out, kissing other men and letting them serve him alcohol superfluously. He didn't like that concept, and I'm hoping he learned that his boyfriend really wouldn't appreciate his actions either.
"You're just mad because you can't even keep a man!" Andrew was bringing me into this now.
"It's not that I can't keep a man, I just get bored easily, and then they have to go." I tried to keep my composure and not feel back about the fact that none of my boyfriends in the past two years have lasted for more than two months, or even two weeks in most cases. I held up and brushed it off since we were really just playing along and taking advantage of Andrew's blood alcohol content levels at this point.
I dropped off Terry. I dropped off Andrew. I dropped myself off, and stripped off my clothes in my room. I laid my head down, my body ready to recharge. My mind raced. I sang songs in my head. I thought about the night. I thought about that damn 5 hour energy shit that now kept me from my sleep. I don't remember falling asleep but I do remember waking up the next day at 7:45AM to start getting ready for a Friday morning of work.
I got out of class at 6:45PM. Andrew was at a friend's house, but somehow conned me into picking him up back at his house so he could join me in the hunt for a new shirt to wear for the night out. I arrived, picking him up, and carted the two of us up to Marshall's. I was looking for something unique and inexpensive, not really knowing how the evening would play out. At Marshall's the pickin's were slim. I was confronted with having to shop in the smallest men's department I've possibly ever seen. The clearance racks weren't promising either. I tried to force myself to be attracted to something, but the plain oxfords weren't singing my name from the racks. Walking towards the front door, I saw a small table with a few hair products and quickly grabbed a bright banana yellow BedHead brush infused with tourmaline. $8 was spent at Marshall's and yet no clothes filled the cheap plastic bag when we left. In the parking lot, a young latino man walked towards the door. Andrew's biggest weakness is latin men, so I immediately glanced at him to see his eyes glued to the guy. "You want to go back in?" I smiled at him.
I decided to make one last stand and try my chances at TJ Maxx. Jackpot. I looked for a while before settling on an olive colored Polo Ralph Lauren tee shirt with a splashed on graphic starting on the chest moving directly up to the neckline. It was a small, and it looked pretty decent, so for $13, I figured I'd try it out, and if it didn't work, I had more than enough options back at the house.
Andrew and I drove back to my house since it was still early. I sprayed my hair one more time, pushing it up from the back making sure that I owned every inch of heaping volume piled up at the back of my head. While this went on, I received a phone call from my lab partner Emily. Em needed some chem lecture notes and was on her way over. She showed up. I pulled the pages out of my notebook and gently arranged them in the three prong folder I had put the first test's notes in for her to borrow. She really started to wear out her welcome. She told the whole story of her ex boyfriend and how he cheated on her and wanted her back and wouldn't stop calling her and yadda yadda yadda. Every time I looked at Andrew, he rolled his eyes, obviously sharing my thoughts at the moment. I finished my face work, filling in my eyebrows and mustache, using bronzer on my cheeks to give me added depth.
Emily walked out of the door with Andrew and me. I waited for her to hurry up while she started chatting leisurely with my mom before hitting the front door. Andrew was restless again. We left, severing ties to the house. I went and gassed up. Andrew went in to the convenient store to buy one of those "5 Hour Energy" drinks. I picked up the small bottle while he used the ATM machine. Nutrition facts: Vitamin B6- Daily % . . . . . 2,000%! Vitamin B12. . . . . 8,333%!!!
"Five hours will put you to 3AM!"
"Okay, well you drink half and I'll drink half," Andrew protested.
I drove to pick up Andrew's friend Terry. We grabbed Terry and headed to the closest interstate on-ramp. Andrew drank half of the bottle. He passed the minature bottle to me. I finished it up, feeling like Alice in Wonderland drinking the growing and shrinking potions. It tasted like extremely concentrated and uncarbonated Red Bull, but not intolerable altogether.
The drive went well. We rocked out to new Hot Chip and Kylie Minogue, Seal, and one really really gay song by RuPaul that went something like this:
"How do I look?!"
"You look good!"
"How do I feel?!"
"You feel good!"
"How do I look?!"
"You look good! Lookin' good and feelin' gorgeous!"
RuPaul sang on and on about looking legendary, and having to send text messages from her Blackberry to her agency, not the escort agency, the modeling agency, "I have coins to make gurrrl!" Andrew and I laughed, and Terry joined in. I acted as gay as I could, living up ever minute of the drive trying to get all three of us pumped and motivated for the night ahead.
The three of us crossed the street after parking and got through the front door without having to wait in any line. Andrew paid my cover charge, as planned, and we lit up cigarettes simultaneously. Terry doesn't smoke, so he just hung out. Andrew went to pick up a Long Island Ice Tea from the bar, obviously planning on getting pretty shitty. The bar didn't pick up until closer to midnight.
The crowd was young. It was very mixed also. 80's night at the Wave used to be an overflow of the Saturday crowd; gay men came in wearing all kinds of skinny leg jeans and Chuck Taylor Converse shoes. An article hit in the paper, The Virginian Pilot to be exact, giving great reviews of the Wave's weekly Thursday night bash. It was half and half for a while. Now, I'd almost venture to say it's about 60% hetero and 40% homo IF that. The usual crowd tends to consist of young trendy girls, queeny gay guys, and a few straight men lookin' for a piece (if you know what I mean). They're the type of guys who rarely dance, clinging to their longneck beers and smoking way too many cigarettes. I can't say I'm not guilty of consuming more than my fair share of nicoteine when I go to the Wave. I'm usually nervous since I'm not the hottest meat in town (like at the Pocket). I smoke profusely, unable to dance without a glowing ember waving around along with my left hand.
Andrew mentioned on the car ride over that we had to look extra good because, "I was pretty sloppy last week and made out with some fat guy. The next day I get this phone call from some guy who tells me he's in his thirties, he's a male nurse, and he lives with his parents. I mean, is that supposed to impress me?" After a while, he turned to me in the bar, "That fat guy's here."
"Where is he?" I asked
"I would never point him out because you'd loose too much respect for me."
Like all opposite ended magnets, somehow they still managed to connect that night. Andrew never bought another drink after his initial Long Island. "The fat guy" had a name, and that name was Rudy. I was introduced, but not on my own accord. I'd seen this guy before. He rolls with a nice crew. The men he keeps close are far thinner than him, and usually hit the gym at least five more times a week than he does. The men he hands around have chiseled bodies, great teeth, and sparkling eyes. I mean, GQ was created because of men like these. Later after hearing about all the drinks he'd purchased Andrew, I decided that the only reason the GQ crew stuck to him like flies to shit was because of his uncanny ability to buy rounds for everyone. I guess when you live with your parents, you don't pay the mortgage and can afford to splurge to aid in your lack of social abilities.
I walked to the back bar and managed to accidentally strike up a conversation with the bartender. I've seem him countless times before. This was two years ago when Ryan and I stayed hitting the Wave steadily every Thursday and Saturday for months on end. This bartender had a thing for Ryan, and so did everyone else. He would carry himself with so much confidence, I always felt like I was just following Ryan, trying to mimick his stance, his eyes, his wit. This particular bartender commented once that he loved the way Ryan would step down the stairs to the back bar, scanning the area, noting every face. Ryan always played the game, and he was damn good at it too. It was actually a copycat move for me to buy a new top to go out in. Ryan would buy a new outfit every single Saturday. I tell you what though, that new shirt made me keep my shoulders back, my stomach in, and I never felt more attractive. The bartender Gerard and I talked about cars, about Honda products, and gas mileage. I would try to walk away to get back to Andrew and Terry, but somehow couldn't. He smiled and did most of the talking. It was hard to get any words in, but I guess he just really needed an ear at that moment. The bar was crowding with needy dunks, and when they started slamming their glasses on the bar top, I patted Gerard's hand and told him I'd talk to him later.
Andrew was constantly disappearing. I'd turn to look at Terry to see if he could point me in the direction, and he would. He would point a finger and there Andrew would be, nestled in small circles of gay men all over the bar, bouncing from one to the next. I walked up behind him, waiting for an opportune moment to jump in and grab his attention, trying not to distract everyone else's. I felt more awkward than anything. I'm sure those guys he was talking to were wondering who that guy was that was standing so close to their circle for no apparent reason. Andrew was good about not talking too long though. He has the attention span of a gnat.
Terry, Andrew, and I ended up on the dance floor. For some reason Andrew's belt kept coming undone (I wondered whether this was planned or honestly accidental). Every two minutes Andrew would turn to Terry and say, "Hold this," and pass Terry is bought-and-paid for drink, courtesy of the hefty male nurse. Terry protested after about the fourth time. He was a good sport about it though.
During the evening, somehow I ran into a small army of people I went to high school with. One of them I'm 105% sure is gay. The other was a girl friend of theirs that I know is staight. The other guy that was with them used to be a regular friend. He used to eat lunch with my best friend and me when we were seniors. He is a year younger than us though. I always assumed him to be straight until I dated a guy who worked with him that claimed he was a "major closet case." My ears had been perked since then. He was the first from their group to come up to me and enthusiastically ask how I had been. I had exchanged a couple messages online with him after I heard he may in fact be gay. I didn't think anything of their group because it was 80's night and is perfectly acceptable to be straight and at the Wave on a Thursday. Had I seen him on a Saturday, it would have been a different story and a far more compromising situation. The night progressed and they tended to each other as I tended to Andrew and Terry on the dance floor.
I saw my lunch-time friend dancing on a girl, which is fine. What caught me off guard was the really gay guy dancing on his ass while he danced with the girl. He didn't look like he minded it or was just tolerating it. He was having a good time. I tried to ignore it and get on with the night as best I could. Andrew would wander off and I danced by myself for a while. I kept my head up, dancing and smiling in my own little world. I had a great time. An 80's song I didn't recognize started playing and I danced on. A very attractive man that wouldn't strike me as being gay walked past me, stopping to tell me, "I have a crush on this song."
"Oh really?" I stopped, smiling at him. He kept on walking and I went back to dancing. In retrospect, I wish I had grabbed his arm, pulled him back to me, and asked him if he'd mind enjoying it with me.
"Last call for alcohol!" boomed over the speakers. I gathered my ducklings seeing as I was the designated driver. I found Andrew, and Terry walked up at the same time. The lights came on and I hurried Andrew to pay out and leave with us. I didn't want to get caught up in the crowd waiting to get their ID's back at the door. Terry and I walked out after Andrew said he had to say his goodbyes. He said he'd meet us back at the car. The front door opened as other people filed out. It was cold, and there was no denying the fact that it was raining pretty hard. Terry and I held out breaths and took off, running all the way to the car. Mid-jog he spoke, "I hate this damn rain, you think white people hate getting their hair wet? My hair it like a sponge. Black people hate getting wet!" We finally made it back to the car on the other side of the street. I started the car and let it warm up while we waited for a shitty Andrew to get to the car. He was five to ten minutes behind us. He clumsily ran to the car, falling into the front seat.
The ride home was eventful to say the least. We argued the whole way jokingly. I ganged up with Terry, telling Andrew how shitty his boyfriend was for not drinking and never going out with him. Terry complained that Andrew's boyfriend was a racist, and Andrew's response was, "Everybody is a racist!" Andrew tried to protect the reputation of his boyfriend, but in the process his own ethics were put on trial. I chastised Andrew for making out with other men and letting them buy him drinks.
"Does that guy Rudy know you have a boyfriend!?" I asked (Rudy is the nurse).
"Yeah. I told him."
I asked him how he would feel if his boyfriend went out, kissing other men and letting them serve him alcohol superfluously. He didn't like that concept, and I'm hoping he learned that his boyfriend really wouldn't appreciate his actions either.
"You're just mad because you can't even keep a man!" Andrew was bringing me into this now.
"It's not that I can't keep a man, I just get bored easily, and then they have to go." I tried to keep my composure and not feel back about the fact that none of my boyfriends in the past two years have lasted for more than two months, or even two weeks in most cases. I held up and brushed it off since we were really just playing along and taking advantage of Andrew's blood alcohol content levels at this point.
I dropped off Terry. I dropped off Andrew. I dropped myself off, and stripped off my clothes in my room. I laid my head down, my body ready to recharge. My mind raced. I sang songs in my head. I thought about the night. I thought about that damn 5 hour energy shit that now kept me from my sleep. I don't remember falling asleep but I do remember waking up the next day at 7:45AM to start getting ready for a Friday morning of work.
1 comments:
I love it when I'm in a good story! Recognize!! LOL
RDW
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